


Delayed Realization

by Bearslayer



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergence, M/M, Season 3 Episode 14 spoilers, Unbeta'd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-09-22 10:32:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9604142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bearslayer/pseuds/Bearslayer
Summary: On a lonely pier, Edward tries to sort through his thoughts.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a prompt received at mindlessgothamite.tumblr.com!

Edward's mind was a Gordian knot of jumbled, twisted emotion. It was life's great riddle, the answer to which had always evaded him. How could one work out feelings that made no sense? On the exterior Edward was calm and collected, but his thoughts constantly raced and conflicted, emotions firing off in shotgun blasts to his frontal lobe. Since he found out about Oswald's betrayal, those blasts had come in the form of blinding rage and a need for vengeance... but also an undercurrent of intense, soul-crushing pain.

His two sides were constantly at war to begin with, and the events that had transpired since his plan was set into motion had only exacerbated that fight. At every turn Oswald had behaved differently than he had expected, had gone left when he would have predictably gone right. His willingness to sacrifice himself to avoid Edward coming to harm was so unlike him that it shook him to his core, casting doubt over his entire way of thinking.

Oswald was inherently selfish, he had thought. Even when acting on behalf of others, there was inevitably some benefit to himself. He was the master of crocodile tears and pandering sentiment, but Edward had always admired that about him. Oswald was calculating, motivated, ambitious, everything Edward himself had wished to be throughout his adult life. When he nursed the small man back to health they had become close, but Edward was always suspicious because he knew Oswald's reputation.

When he wrote to him in Arkham and sent him packages, he began to weasel his way into Edward's heart, which he had kept on lock-down to protect himself.

When Oswald sprung him from Arkham and took him in, Edward had fallen under his spell. He began to do things that were out of character for himself. He risked his life to protect him from Butch, spent his days agonizing over managing Oswald's hefty workload, and spent his nights with the other man, doing menial domestic things that were only enjoyable because he was doing them with Oswald.

And then Isabella came and left just as fast by the mayor's order, leaving Edward irreparably broken, grasping for meaning. She was the spectre of a past that he had wanted so badly, one he could cling to and build the life he wanted with.

But did he really want that life?

A little wife, a little home, perhaps some little children?

Or was it some strange reach for a normalcy that he had always craved but could never truly enjoy?

Edward knew he was wrong on the inside. He knew that murder was wrong, but when he did it it was like cool air to a man who had always been forced to walk on the surface of the sun. It was control, it was power, it **made sense** to him in a world that was mostly nonsense. Oswald had always understood that. He had nurtured that feeling when all others would spurn him for it. He had understood what it was like to have a desperate need to twist the world to one's will, to mold those around with words and actions.

Oswald understood him in a way that no person had ever even attempted. He alone had been able to sort through Edward's harried brain and make sense of the maelstrom that existed there, at the center. He even knew that Edward had manipulated his emotions by playing off the feelings that lingered for his late mother, but didn't seem to care. He had felt so lost without Isabella, so driven by anger over her death that he had let his darker instincts take hold.

The instincts that Oswald knew well because he, too, weathered them.

Oswald, who had saved him.

Oswald, who had broken him.

Oswald, who loved him so deeply that he was willing to force himself to change something that was so central to his being; his instinct for self-preservation.

Oswald, who now plead with him to speak as Edward held a gun to his gut.

Tears streamed down the tall man's cheek, melding with the rivulets of rainwater that trickled off his chin. He had been thrown into chaos with Isabella's death, but perhaps the answer wasn't the revenge that his violent id desired. Perhaps the answer was a gentle surrender to the one man who knew how to piece together the tatters of Edward's psyche, the man who soothed him with his presence.

“I loved her Oswald...” He mumbled out loud, trying to make sense of things, staring down at the cold metal in his hand.

“Ed... Please. I love you.” Oswald whimpered, voice the one of a man who had suffered endlessly.

Edward had once told himself that he would never be the cause of the other man's suffering, that they were best friends and as such, he would protect him from it. He had held Oswald so many times before, comforted him in so many times of duress, and now he had broken him down and forced him into another wave of pain. Oswald had said they needed one another, words that slid into his brain like a cool balm.

They had both suffered enough.

They were two sides of the same coin; impulsive and controlled, action and planning, their natures duality encompassed.

Together, would there be balance?

The thought was like a switch for something deep inside of him, the lighting of a candle that had been neglected since the night Isabella came into his life. In that moment, the adoration, the warmth, the **need** he felt towards Oswald reignited, pouring over his rain-soaked form all at once.

The gun slid from Edward's fingers, his white-knuckled grip going slack as he moved forward to take the smaller man's chin in hand.

“We do need one another, don't we?” He muttered, staring down into the deep green eyes he had forgotten he loved.

“We do, Ed... I need you. W-what...” Oswald replied in confusion.

The confusion dissolved instantly, the lids of his beautiful eyes sliding closed as Edward captured his lips with his own. Thin arms wrapped around his shoulders, tiptoes stood on to make the angle of their kiss more even. Edward let up only when the need for consistent breaths arose, pulling his lips away only far enough to whisper to the other man.

“Never hurt me again, Oswald. Please.” Edward pressed his forehead to Oswald's, both arms now holding him tight.

“I'd rather die.” Oswald promised.

 


End file.
